


Jabberwocky

by Dyeity



Series: Splice Narratives [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cyberpunk, Genetic Engineering, Genetically Engineered Beings, Science Fiction, blood sport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27034621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyeity/pseuds/Dyeity
Summary: [Excerpt from 'The Guide To Atlas: Industries']...Circus “Doc:” must have basic first-aid knowledge. If you don’t, must be willing to learn basic first-aid knowledge. If you’re not, just put a band-aid on it, it’s probably fineCircus hand: you do most of the heavy-lifting and behind the scenes work at one of the wildest parties imaginable. Be it dishing out questionable drinks or illegal drugs at the bar, cleaning up the blood after matches, handling the ferals, or running the betting pools, you do whatever it takes to keep the show going...
Series: Splice Narratives [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920862





	Jabberwocky

It had been a parking garage way back when, but now it served as one of the largest underground parties you could imagine.

The Circus was aptly named, in Reed’s opinion. A big, loud spectacle with the added advantages of drugs, alcohol, pounding music, and dim lighting. The atmosphere itself was reminiscent of a drug trip and, like carnivals had funnel cake and cotton candy, you could buy just about anything at the Circus, or at least find someone who sold it. There were even animals, of a sort, and live entertainment. 

Holes had been made in the floors to create arenas, sometimes 3 floors deep and edged with questionable railings. These staging grounds hosted actors, of a physical sort, who were always ready to put on a show. As they carted off the latest bloodied mess of a performer out of a rink, the crowd roaring in excitement or anger or just for the hell of it, Reed pocketed his winnings and wondered how many stitches he'd be sewing tonight. 

“You're a fuckin' cheat!”

“No, you're a sore loser.” Reed replied, turning from the rink to face his accuser. He felt only a marginal reduction in confidence when he realized the wired man he'd just relieved of 150 dollars was not the only one glaring at him. Reed offered a wry look that bordered on a grimace, but it was lost behind his mask. “Don't bet anything you're not willing to lose.”

The man squinted, gesturing towards one of his companions with an awkward neck movement. 

“Philly informed me that you're a ‘doctor’ here.” He made exaggerated quotation marks with his hands. Reed would guess he was smiling. 

“I patch up what they rip open,” Reed conceded, narrowing his eyes.

“You know the fighters personally.” Philly said, raising an eyebrow. 

“If they're regulars.”

“You know how well they do.” He persisted. 

“And so can you, if you check the posted roster. Your lack of research is no fault of mine.” Reed said dismissively, turning to go. Every other night, some graceless loser tried to start something, just because he was good at reading matches. It was getting annoying. 

A hand latched onto his arm, and yanked him back. 

“You know what, I'm not sure I like your attitude.” The man said slowly, tightening grip on Reed’s forearm as he leaned in. It was a cliché line, and likely an empty threat. Nothing he hadn't heard before, but there went the rest of Reed’s patience. 

“Well, I certainly don't like your breath.” Reed made a show of “plugging” his nose. Not that he could smell anything but his mask, the man was probably too high to notice. The man’s eye twitched, and he as he cocked back an arm, Reed ran through the situation in his head. He could probably take 3 guys at once, easy. Sure, they weren't so old, and not-Philly looked like he could bench him, but head honcho was definitely an addict and Philly wasn't too impressive either. Easy. 

“All fights must be reported to the Rinkleader. Unless you don't want any cut of the wagers we get from it?” A familiar voice said from behind Reed. The men’s eyes widened. Reed didn't need to look to confirm, but he did anyway. There stood Di, the gaping eyes of her disconcerting mask a relief. Reed could take them, of course, but he'd rather not get punched in the face if he didn't have to. 

“Actually, uncleared fights aren't strictly allowed at all, especially not with a member of our staff.” Di’s elder brother added, trailing the usual two steps behind his sister. His eye sockets, unlike Di’s empty pits, had a screen that displayed a real time heartbeat, one that was pittering along at a slightly escalated rate. 

“Card.” Reed raised a hand in greeting.

“Reed.” 

“Details aside, we’d like our man back.” Di held out her hand, as if Reed could be placed inside and the man was a child who’d taken something he shouldn't have. 

“He's a cheater!” The man insisted. 

“Then don't make bets with him anymore.”

“Thanks for backing me up, Di.” Reed said, dryly. The man scoffed, shoving Reed away. Reed, in turn, moved out of arm's reach. 

“Glad we could settle this peacefully.” Di said, then beckoned for Reed to follow as she spun on her heel and cut her way through the crowd. Card lingered a second, waiting for Reed who, for good measure, gave the men one last look. 

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you.” He said, as sincerely as possible. The response he got was less than friendly, but he couldn't care less as he was swept into the throng of people, Card at his side. 

“You have a bad habit of kicking hornet nests.” Card said, as they did their best to keep up with Di’s retreating figure. 

“I'd call it a gift. Who gets so fuckin' worked up over a hundred and fifty bucks, anyways?” Reed said, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“People with no money to bet in the first place.” Card replied, giving Reed a sidelong look. 

“Then they've got no place being here, do they?” Reed found himself in short supply of sympathy. “What does Di want, anyhow?”

Card shrugged. 

“To get you out of the situation, most likely.”

Reed snorted. 

“I appreciate the gesture, but I had it under control.” Reed said with conviction. 

“Sure, I'll just pretend we didn't watch you almost get your teeth knocked in.”

“Semantics, not like I need them anyway.”

“And what if he'd gone for something you don't grow back?”

“Dunno, but since you're so damn keen on acting like my mother, guess I'll just have to ask you to kiss it better.” Reed said, ignoring the sudden ache in his chest. Guess those kind of jokes would need a bit more time.

“Sorry, I’ve no interest in kissing any part of you, let alone a busted up one.”

“As happy as I am to hear you two aren't back there making out, keep up.” Di stood with her arms crossed, waiting expectantly. Beyond her was the rail of one of the more central rinks. 

“Why're you in such a hurry?” Reed asked, walking up to grab the rail beside her to see what poor soul was going to bleed for the people’s entertainment next. “New fighter?”

“You could say that.” Di said. An inhuman screech filled the air, managing to cut through both the music and the crowd. As Reed’s attention returned to the rink, he saw a lurching, disjointed figure sink elongated fingers into the eye sockets of another grotesque creature. He swore he heard the  _ crack _ as the monster thrust its fingers through the eye socket and into the brain, stilling it's opponent. It tossed the corpse aside and screeched again, eyes roving over the crowd erratically, as if to warn them off . Reed attempted to swallow his distaste as it returned to the corpse, grabbed a limb, and brought it to its mouth. 

“We got some new ferals.” Di said, her dead tone holding something more than usual, but Reed couldn't place it. 

Animals, of a sort. 

“Damn, did it kill Hamster?” Card asked, sounding surprisingly disappointed as he took Di’s other side. 

“You named the feral Hamster?” Reed gave him a funny look. 

“Had big cheeks and rodent teeth.” Card said, defensively. Reed gave a short laugh. 

“Fair enough.” 

The crowd watched with a mix of disgust and curiosity as the new Feral devoured what was left of Hamster. The crew wouldn't disturb it. It was feeding itself and cleaning up the mess for them, a win win. 

“Want to name this one?” Di asked. 

“Henry.” Reed said, after a moment’s consideration. 

“And you gave me shit about Hamster?” Card asked, feigning confusion. 

“Fine, picky, what do you think it should be named?” 

“I'd have to get a better look.”

There was a particularly sickening crunch as the feral snapped Hamster’s femur. Reed leaned forward to look past Di at Card.

“You're right, Card, that sounds like a fantastic idea.” He said. 

“Shit, well, maybe not…”

They watched it in silence, thinking. It had ashen gray skin that, despite its thin frame, hung like moth-eaten drapery in rolls and folds. As far as Reed could tell, it didn't have a proper nose. It swiveled its head around on an unusually long neck to once again ensure that none of the spectators were trying to steal it's hard earned meal. There was something severely reptilian about the action. 

“Jabberwocky.” Di said with finality. 

They mulled it over for a second. 

“Works for me.” Card said with a nod. They looked at Reed.

“I've got nothing better.” He said, giving them a ‘take it away’ wave of his arm. 

“Let's go tell the announcer.” 

They filed off, following the edge of the rink. The monster was making quick work of Hamster’s remains, eating with the relish of someone who’s meal was hard-earned. Only a floor above the rink, Reed could see and hear every grisly detail: the tear of the flesh, the ripping of muscle, and the open-mouthed chewing which dribbled blood and saliva down a receded chin. It was difficult to watch. Splice or not, Reed was relieved they'd never ask him to patch up ferals.

Before they could reach the announcer, they were flagged down by Bull. She was member of the staff, a bulky woman with a horned mask, a simplified head of her namesake. A woman after Di’s own heart, she didn't say much, but Reed had seen her from time to time ending matches that had gotten out of hand. It was a rare event. ‘Out of hand’ had a different meaning down here. 

“Di, the Rinkleader wants ya in the tent.” Bull said. Di gave a curt nod, and left without a word. Bull turned to Reed next. “Med bay.”

Task accomplished, Bull made her silent retreat as well. 

“Want to know one of the highlights of working here?” Reed said. 

“What?” Card asked, turning to face him. 

“The conversation.” It was Card’s turn to snort. Reed moved forward, turning to walk backwards slowly, his hand skimming the rail. “You coming to the med bay?”

“As much as I enjoy the company of the wounded and irritable, I'll gonna have to pass.” Card said, patting Reed on the shoulder and heading in the direction Di had gone, likely to wait till she got out of her meeting with the boss. Reed sighed, and made his own way to the side ramp set apart for staff and the entertainment.

The ground floor, unlike those above, had some degree of organization. It held the Circus’ storage, a majority of the rink entrances, and, of course, the med bay. There were mint green curtains, like the ones you might find in a hospital, dividing the gurneys and modest amounts of medical supplies from the rest of what kept the Circus moving. Reed went through the opening with a big red plus sign spray painted on the floor. He was met by Cynth, head nurse, who was reading something off a clipboard. She glanced up momentarily before scribbling something down. 

“We need you to treat the guy on gurney 13. Probably needs stitches on his face.” She said, finishing her note and tucking the clipboard under her arm. 

“Winner?” Reed asked.

“Nope, losers for losers. Jeb got here first, came straight from the match.” Cynth said, with clear amusement. 

“I got a little held up.” 

“I heard. Gurney 13.” 

Reed rolled his eyes, and made his way down the aisle. There was a plentiful amount of moaning filling the air, and even more cursing. Several fighters, regulars with little more than bruises, sat around trading jabs and poking fun at the newer fighters, who were either smart enough to hold their tongue or too injured to pay them any mind. Moving between them were other “doctors,” some wearing aprons, some in signature white coats, some wearing neither, but all at least had disposable gloves on, the same green as the curtains. When Reed got to gurney 13, he grabbed the rolling toolbox that held supplies and slipped a pair of gloves on, before turning to the guy he'd be treating. 

New, obviously, and pissy. He'd been reclining on the gurney, hands behind his head, but sat up slowly as Reed looked at him. Reed noted the shallow gash in his cheek, split lip, and black eye. Nose was also broken, and there was a sizable lump forming near his temple. Possible concussion. 

“Name.” Reed stated more than asked. 

“Asher Slagg.” he said, with a glare that was really uncalled for. 

“Where are you.”

“The med bay.”

“Why're you here.” 

“Take a wild guess.” 

“I'm not the one with a potential concussion, so why don't you?” 

“…I lost my fight.” 

“Good job. Are you bleeding internally?”

“‘Hell am I supposed to know that?” Asher snapped, making a face. He crossed his arms, wincing slightly. Reed shrugged, picking up a small flashlight from the toolbox and titled Asher’s head back slightly. 

“Look straight ahead.” Reed instructed, moving the light back and forth. Clicking it off and replacing it, Reed leaned back. 

“No concussion and no stitches, lucky you. Now, do you want to fix your nose or should I?” 

“You're an auggie, aren't you?” 

“I'm just a guy who wants to know what we’re gonna do about that thing on your face, ‘cause it's a fucking mess.” 

“Your eyebrows are the same color as your hair, ain't fuckin’ natural.” 

“Neither is the angle of your nose, but at least that's my business.” Reed reached out and snapped Asher’s nose back into place. Cursing loudly, Asher took a blind swing, which Reed easily side stepped. “When you're done crying, lift your shirt. I need to check your ribs.”

Reed conceded the watery glare he got was probably a bit more deserved. Snickers spread through the med bay, while Reed crossed his arms and waited for Asher to compose himself. He didn't want the attention, especially not if they'd been listening to Asher, which of course they had. People in the Deeps flocked to gossip like vultures to a carcass. 

“Ya know, I've been wondering myself, doc,” someone called from gurney 16. Reed turned to see Jacen, a regular, and the one who’d beat Asher. He let the statement hang in the air, looking around at the other regulars who were nodding in agreement, and drawing the attention of just about everyone else. “What's a designer baby doing below C level?” 

Jeb had just finished wrapping his knuckles and was putting away the gauze. Instead of moving on to the next fighter, she sat down on gurney 18 to enjoy the show.

“I wouldn't know.” Reed grabbed Asher's shoulder and forced him upright. Batting Asher’s hands away from his nose and ignoring the murderous glare he got in response, Reed gestured to the hem of his shirt. 

“Of course not.” Jacen said with a self-satisfied smirk. Reed focused on the begrudgingly exposed bruises along Asher's side, hoping Jacen was done having his fun. 

“Pink hair  **is** pretty unusual.” Jacen pressed. 

Reed had never been that lucky. Chittering agreements ran through the room. 

“Ever heard of hair dye? It's a wondrous invention, comes in all sorts of colors.” Reed’s tone was sickly sweet, like he was talking to a toddler. He went back to prodding Asher’s side, but he could feel the stares on his back and had to clench his jaw to keep from grinding his teeth. 

Reed applied pressure to one of the darker bruises on Asher's side. Asher shoved him back with a hiss of pain and Reed put his hands up to show it hadn't been intentional. Asher didn't look like he cared. His nose was a deep purple, and he winced as he aggressively wiped away the fresh tears welling in his bloodshot eyes. Reed would have thought the crying would have dampened the glare’s effectiveness, but it was far from sniveling, and seemed only to add to the promise of a slow, painful death. 

“Why so defensive, doc?” Asher spat, standing up slowly. “Weren't pretty enough to be worth mommy and daddy’s investment?” 

“You're a bigger man than me, Asher,” Reed said, holding his ground. “Really taking the high road. I wouldn't be so quick to take sides with a man who’d just made me his bitch.”

Asher sneered, looking ready to give punching Reed another go, when the person on 15 piped in. 

“Don't be rude, Slagg, I'm sure he's plenty pretty.” They leered. 

“Doubt it, he never takes the mask off, probably tryin’ to hide how ugly he is,” said the doc sewing up the gash in their arm. He was trying to look impartial, but Reed could see the glances of interest he gave every so often as he pulled the stitches taut. So much for staff loyalty. 

“Could be a failed auggie.” The woman on gurney 10 offered helpfully. She leaned conspiratorially towards gurney 12’s occupant. “That happens sometimes, they over-tinker and end up screwing up the mouth or somethin’.” 

“Ew, really?” 

“I don’t believe it, everyone knows auggies are hot.”

“I bet you ten bucks his mouth is upside down!” 

“Ha! Shows how much you believe your own shit! Fifty bucks says he's hot as hell.”

“Fifty bucks says you should all back the fuck up.” Reed snapped, earning him nothing but several derisive chuckles as he smacked a hand away from his face.

“Take off your mask!” 

“Yeah, take off the mask!”

If Reed wasn't uncomfortable before, he certainly was now. Everyone who could get up, was up, and trying to get a better look. They were all staring at him, searching for any sign that his genes had been tampered with, any extra joints or backward features. Reed shot Jeb a look, a mix of can-you-believe-this and stop-this-now. She smiled sweetly and Reed knew he was in trouble. 

“I've seen him glow in the dark before.” Jeb said loudly. 

“What the hell, Jeb!” 

She shrugged in response. 

“For the love of–I'm not even augmented!” Reed yelled, but no one was listening. They crowded closer, trying to see the glow for themselves. 

“Come on, doc, take off the mask, put this all to rest.” Asher said, in a mockingly cordial tone. Reed was absolutely certain Asher just wanted to punch him in the face without breaking his hand. 

“Yeah, doc, what's the big deal?” Jacen said, pushing his way to the front. A chant of “take it off” started and Reed felt a little sick to his stomach. If any of these guys watched the news…

“The ‘big deal’ is that it's none of your damn business, now get out of my way.” Reed tried to shove past those blocking his way, only to be pushed back in between the gurneys. As he tried to regain his footing, Asher tripped him. Looking up from the ground, Reed felt like he was back in grade school, surrounded by stuck-up rich kids who wanted more entertaining ways to burn off energy then the playground at recess. He got up quickly. He knew better than to stay on the ground. 

“I'm flattered, really, but I'm not attractive enough to warrant all this fuss you're making, and I'd hate to disappoint.” Reed said, retreating as they pressed closer.

“Just take the mask off, kid.” Jacen said, like he was helping Reed out, like he wanted to make it easy for him. Reed caught sight of Jeb again, and for her credit, she did look at least a little concerned. Asher still looked like he wanted to kill him.

Reed considered his options. Sure, he could take three guys, but this many career fighters might put him a little out of his depth. He could try to wiggle under curtain, but that was undignified, plus they'd probably catch him anyways. 

He was thinking about gurney hopping when Asher went to grab him. He swung on impulse. Someone caught his arm mid swing. Reed tried to yank out of the grip, only to be pushed back against the gurney behind him. The flood gates opened and the people rushed forward, docs and fighters alike, holding him down, trying to get his mask off. Reed panicked, thrashing and kicking. He managed to pull his arms free, managed to get a punch or two in before they pinned him again. The harder he struggled, the more aggressive they got. He had something to hide, and they wanted to know, or they at least wanted to grab, and grab, and grab. 

“Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”

“What's his problem?”

“Hey, someone hit the lights!”

“I wanna see him glow!”

Someone would recognize him, at least one person, and they'd turn him in. He could stand prison, he was sure he could. He wasn't afraid of execution. 

“Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”

That's probably what they'd do. Prisons were overcrowded, too overcrowded for someone with no rights. Wasn't that the problem in the first place? Why he was here? They'd kill him, and they'd take it back. That's what he was afraid of. They'd take it and give it back to his disgusting uncle. 

“Stop moving!” 

“Keep his head still!”

“Take it off!”

They'd take her away from him again. 

They grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. Reed tried to move but couldn't get his arms free, couldn't get any kicks to connect. They got the first buckle open. His eyes burned so he shut them. The overhead light still burned red through his eyelids. He shut them tighter. Leather slid through the second buckle and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“He's a splice.” The voice was cold, and hard, cutting through the frenzied chanting like hot steel through butter. Both its tone, and what it said, sent a surge through them. Reed felt them all cringe back at once. 

“A splice?”

“He can't be a splice, they're rabid.”

“The feral ones…”

Reed heard mixed reactions of disgust and disbelief, but he was too busy trying to breath at the moment to care what they thought. He was bent back against the gurney awkwardly, which made filling his lungs to full capacity, like he felt he needed to, a little hard. As soon as their grips loosened, his hands were on his face, keeping his mask in place as he sunk between them to the ground. He took his time rebuckling his mask, but the feet around him refused to move. He buckled slower and kept his eyes down. He knew how this went. 

“He's a monste–”

“If you are well enough to assault my staff, you are well enough to get out of my medical bay.” Cynth cut in, clicking her way through them. Her silver-toed shoes crossed Reed's vision and turned sharply to face those who refused to shuffle out with the rest. “Remember who keeps your brains in your heads and your blood in your body. Now, shoo.”

Several pairs of shoes still remained. 

“To the rest of you, remember who keeps you paid and get out of my face.”

And that was the last of it. Reed took a couple more seconds to compose himself, scrubbing his eyes when his vision blurred. Cynth reclined on the gurney beside him, having the courtesy to ignore him as he awkwardly picked himself up off the ground. If only there'd been something interesting to look at on the med bays back wall, where she was staring, maybe Reed would have believed she actually didn't care. 

“What was that, Reed?” She asked, almost accusingly. He couldn't help but laugh. It came out humorless and a little on edge. 

“They would've turned me in.”

She frowned at him, with a look that said you're-an-idiot. 

“You realize where we are, right?”

“A guy tried to jump me for less than two hundred bucks earlier. Don't fuckin' tell me one of those asshats isn't willing to drag me all the way to a police station for over six hundred.” 

She sighed. 

“Point taken.”

There was silence for a few seconds. 

“Thanks.”

“We take care of our own, down here.”

“Tell that to Jeb, or any of the other fucking docs who were ready to rip my face off.” Reed couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

“Oh, I'll have something to tell them, particularly about inciting anarchy in a no-fighting zone. But that's not who I mean.” Cynth turned, a hard look in her grey eyes, the same grey as her hair. “ _ We _ take care of our own. No one else will, especially not after the mess you made upstairs.”

Reed tightened his jaw, and nodded stiffly. Again, silence. He took deep breaths, trying to suppress the slight tremors he still felt.

“It wasn't my fault. You know that, right?”

Cynth had gone back to staring at the wall, but Reed could see her smile ruefully.

“Yeah, but the fire was.”

He couldn't argue with that, so he left. 

* * *

Reed couldn't find Di or Card, he figured the Rinkleader was still talking to them. Watching matches sounded better than staring at the ceiling in his room, and making money was better than not, so he decided to bet. He ended up back at the rink where Jabberwocky had been, and continued to be, along with the remains of three other ferals. At least someone’s night was going well. 

A Circus’ bookie strolled by, yelling out bogus odds and various rates and the usual promise of riches. Reed flagged them down. 

“What can I do you for?” The bookie asked brightly. 

“Come around when they let out the next opponent?” 

“Cautious one, huh? There's really no need, the gawky one’s obviously the safe bet, won the last four matches. Don’t matter who they send in next, if you ask me.” the bookie offered helpfully. Seems no one had made it around to naming the thing yet. 

“Alright, hundred fifty on whoever comes out next.” The bookie laughed as Reed dug the bills out of his pocket and handed them over.

It was stupid, but the thought of a safe bet felt like sandpaper on bare skin, so odds be damned. Still, as the bookie left him with a mocking salute, Reed deflated against the railing. It was stupid. As if some petty high stakes would make him feel better. He was just throwing money away, honestly, money he needed. Maybe he should get drunk. He absentmindedly thumbed the cylinder he wore on a chain around his neck, rolling it between his fingers as he stared blankly into the rink. Jabberwocky was snapping limbs off of its last opponent, which struck Reed as extremely pointless, not to mention extremely disgusting.

Maybe he wouldn't watch the next match after all. 

“Well, well, lookie what we have here.” 

Reed didn't have the energy to suppress a groan. Again with the clichés. The man from earlier stood to one side of him, while Philly rested his arms on the rail on the other side. 

“You know, I would literally fucking pay you to leave me alone right now.”

“Oh? Then why not give back what you stole?”

Reed ground his teeth, his knuckles going white on the rail. If one more person called him something he wasn't…

“I never cheated, but if it makes you feel any better, I blew the money I _won,_ fair and square, on whatever asshole fights this guy next, so now we’re both broke.” 

“You little shit, that was my money!”

“Then go place a bet, win it back, and stop harassing me about it.” Reed said dismissively. The man pulled back with a ‘tsk.’ Reed wondered if it would be too much to hope for that to be the end of it. Apparently, it was, because he was back not a minute later. 

“I have a better idea. How about you go win it back for us?” 

Reed had already felt weak, humiliated, and helpless enough for one day. He wanted to burn it off himself, wanted to beat the feeling away, wanted to bleed it out, wanted to make someone else bleed it out for him. He peeled his fingers off the rail and balled his hands into fists. He could take three. Easy. 

He was already swinging before the thought occurred to him. Where was that third one? 

It was always harder to sense people in a crowd, too much energy, too many pulses moving about; it became more sensory overload than anything else, so Reed usually just ignored it. He didn't pick up on the big guy till it was too late. One second, Reed was being lifted into the air, and the next, he was falling over the rail.

One of these days, Reed was actually going to land the first punch he threw. For now though, with the rink floor racing up to meet him, he figured he had another kind of landing to worry about. 

He tried to roll, but he was coming down head first, at less than favorable angle. He put his hands out. They scraped and caught on the loose sand, tearing through the mint-green gloves he’d forgotten to discard. The world turned once, twice. His back collided with hard ground, knocking the wind out of him as the rest of his body laid itself flat. The floodlights above him pinwheeled. He waited, wheezing, till they stopped, and then sat up with a groan. Too fast. His head swam. 

“There's a guy in the rink!”

People were screaming and yelling, and just sounding generally confused. Not his problem. Reed turned his attention to the loud crunching coming from the other side of the rink. Jabberwocky continued to dismember the other feral, oblivious to Reed’s presence. Reed let out a rattling breath that seemed louder than the hundreds of spectators about to watch him get eaten alive, but Jabberwocky didn't react. Reed got unsteadily to his feet and, with shallow breaths and wide eyes never leaving the thing’s emancipated back, back peddled to the chain link fence that walled in the rink. Beyond Jabberwocky there was a gate, so there should be a one directly behind him too. He fumbled around for the handle, cringing as the fence shifted and letting out a sigh of relief when his fingers finally brushed the latch. Just as he was about to slide it open and escape, Jabberwocky none the wiser, the back of his neck tingled. 

Reed jumped away seconds before a feral  _ CRASHED _ into the other side of the fence _ ,  _ shoving it’s numerous arms through in an attempt to grab him. Several staff stared at him, mouths gaping, as they held the second feral’s box in place. Reed stared back, blinking dumbly, before coming to his senses.

“Move it!” 

“Where'd you come from?” One of them said in astonishment, while the rest stayed frozen in shock. Reed turned to check on Jabberwocky. The thing’s gaping eyes stared back. He wasn't religious, but he promised a full conversion to whatever deity got him out of this with all of his limbs attached. 

“Just move the fucking cage!” Reed said, waving his arms wildly. A shiver ran down his spine, and he dove to the side. Jabberwocky went rushing past him, running headlong into the gate. The staff yelped and backed away as the two ferals became a screeching mass of conflicting limbs. Reed scrambled to his feet, watching in horror as Jabberwocky tore the other feral’s arm off. They made really nice prosthetics these days, Reed thought to himself while rushing towards the other gate, he could work with a prosthetic. What was with this thing and dismemberment?

Reed sprinted across the rink, almost tripping over his own feet and colliding with the fence. There was no feral cage at this gate, but when he tried to open it, it wouldn't budge. His eyes shot to Jabberwocky, who was still preoccupied with feral #2, and back through the gate. Two staff members stared at him. 

“Open the gate, open the gate, open the gate!” Reed cried desperately, violently rattling the fence. One of the staff moved forward, and Reed almost sobbed in relief, before the radio on her belt crackled to life, and muttered a single word. 

“Don't.” 

The staff looked from the radio to Reed, radio to Reed, and then took a step back. 

“…You've got to be fucking kidding. I swear, if you're not joking, I will rip your goddamn throat out, you shrimp-dicked–Open the gate!” 

They gave him an apologetic shrug, the kind you give to someone you accidentally spill your drink on or have to tell their card was declined, not one you gave to someone you were leaving to die. 

The Rinkleader was going to get him killed. 

There was blood curdling screams coming from the other side of the rink, and Reed guessed he probably had about a few more limbs left before he was out out of time. The speakers hummed to life, and the announcer’s voice boomed out over the hysterical crowd. 

“Everybody chill out, please, there's nothin’ to worry about, everything gonna be– woah wait, what're you–” there was the muffled sound as someone forcefully took the microphone. 

“We’re putting on a new show tonight.” It was Di. “Ever wonder what a feral might do with a marginally intelligent opponent?” 

“Di, we can't put a person in the rink with that thing! This was not cleared! You can't just–”

“He's not a person, legally speaking.”

So they were killing AND insulting him? Reed ran to the middle of the rink, trying to get a view of the announcer box three floors up.

“What are you talking about?! Who could you possibly…” the voice faded as it moved away from the mic, but you could still hear it exclaim “Is that Reed?!”

He could just barely make her out, and he could clearly see Card almost pitch himself over the side. 

“Let me the fuck out of here!” Reed shouted, adding a jabbing point to get the message across. The mic was once again exchanged and the announcer was back. 

“Uh…What do you say, folks, should we let him out?” 

Reed put out his hands beseechingly, and indistinct responses filled the air. Maybe that was in his favor…

“Should we let him fight?”

The crowed roared.

“…well fuck.” Reed dropped his arms. “You know what, fuck all you assh–AH!” 

Reed ducked as a severed limb sailed over his head. Jabberwocky had finished with Feral #2, and was lumbering in Reed's direction, it's knuckles dragging along the ground. It's jaw dangled open loosely, it's vacant expression contradicting its directness. A mix of saliva and blood trailed out of its mouth, pattering along the ground as it approached. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck okay, I got this, no problem…” Reed’s heart pounded in his ears, as he tried to think. Rambling thoughts tumbled out of his mouth as he backed away, trying to maintain the distance between him and the monster. “You don't look like a runner, maybe you're not a runner, I can run, how about we run…”

Reed was off like a bullet, dodging a swipe from Jabberwocky as he went around him. The thing had trouble turning, which bought him some time, and it didn't follow too quickly either. This would work, he'd just have to keep running till it dropped from exhaustion, and pray that wasn't a stitch forming in his side. Simple enough. Reed was too busy trying not to throw up or scream to feel triumphant. 

Everything would've been fine, if not for the bottle. It sailed through the air, like some avenging angel made of filthy brown glass, come to punish him for his sins, because God apparently hated him. It missed, but Reed stumbled. His foot came down on the exposed ribcage of one of Jabberwocky’s earlier opponents, passing through with a crunching  _ squelch,  _ and got caught. 

“Fucking hell…”

Reed couldn't stop fast enough, or get his hands under himself in time. He bit his tongue as his chin connected with the ground. Hot copper flooded his mouth and his stomach revolted when he tried to swallow it down so he could breath. Blood flooded into his mask. Life seemed to slow down. Dazed, Reed rolled over and tried to free his foot. It wouldn't come free. He could feel the guts seeping into his shoe, up his legs. His hands were slick with the rusty, congealed mess. A shadow towered over him. The roar of the crowd felt distance, like crashing waves, while Jabberwocky’s low, guttural growl reverberated through his chest, deep into his bones. Reed could see bits of mangled flesh stuck between its broken, rotting teeth. 

His foot came loose and he crawled backwards. The sand stung as it slipped past the tears in his latex gloves, digging into his skinned palms. He knew better than to stay on the ground, but he did anyways. The thing above him reached forward, so he brought his arm up to block his face. It clenched down on his forearm with its nails–claws, whatever, he hadn't checked–piercing the skin. It leaned over him, it's other hand biting into the opposite shoulder. It yanked his arm straight, and continued to tug. Reed felt a pop. His cry of pain came out garbled, and reality caught up with itself. Reed pulled back, blinking away black spots as his arm strained further from its socket. Jabberwocky pulled harder in response, pulling him up off his back, away from the ground. Reed’s legs found purchase, and he lunged forward, the sudden shift in momentum launching the two of them back. Surprised to find itself suddenly falling backwards, Jabberwocky let go and Reed flung himself over it’s head. He took the millisecond he spent in the air to be impressed by how high he was going, and made sure to land on his shoulder. 

He blacked out for a moment, right after hitting the ground, as his arm was forced back into place. His shirt ripped, and then his skin, but the only thought running through his mind as he slammed into the ground and skidded to a halt, was  _ I can't believe that fucking worked! _

He got up quickly, feet slipping as he stood. It was excruciating to roll his shoulders, but he did anyway. The pain eased as adrenaline and endorphins flooded his system. Jabberwocky was scuffling around indignantly, kicking up dust as it tried to orient itself, it's elongated neck pivoting at impossible angles. When it did get up, it's head turned first, followed by the rest of its body, in one strange, fluid motion. It stalked forward with a clicking hiss. 

Fear coursed through him, but Reed was tired, sick and tired, and he was going to make someone else bleed today. 

Reed barreled into Jabberwocky, tackling it to the ground. It lashed out, knocking him to the side. He rolled into the corpse he'd stepped in earlier. As Jabberwocky rushed him, he grabbed a broken rib and jammed it into the base of its neck. It reared back, blood spurting from what was probably an artery. Reed lost grip of the rib shard. He didn't have time to grab another one before Jabberwocky leapt on him, smashing him into the ground. It screamed in his face, smashing him down again. Reed got his feet between the both of them and kicked, shoving it off. Before it could recover, he clambered on top of it, kneeling on its arms and punching. His movements were feverish and erratic. Eventually, he heard a crack and felt a give. It thrashed at first, then twitched, and, eventually, it even stopped screeching. Reed kept going. 

When he finally stopped, his chest was heaving and he couldn't stop shaking. It's blood was splattered all down his front, he could feel it dripping from his face. His fingers popped and the remains of his gloves squeaked quietly as he unclenched his hands. He fell over as he tried to stand, but he caught himself and stumbled away from the thing he'd just killed. 

His stomach couldn't take it any more. He didn't care if someone recognized him, he'd had enough of this. If they wanted his reward, they could fucking try him. Reed unbuckled his mask and tore it away from his face so he could spit out the blood. The mask dripped profusely, it was probably clogged. He tossed it to the side, sucking in shuddering breaths, watching as blood leaked out of his mouth and pooled at his feet. 

“Jabberwocky wins.” 

Reed's head snapped up so quick he got lightheaded. He couldn't help but snarl at the announcement box. Di reclined against the rail, resting her head on her hand like she'd spent the last hour watching milk spoil, the mic dangling lazily from her other hand. Reed was seeing red. If she thought this was the time for jokes, after what they'd just put him through, he was going to rip _her_ arms off. The very least they could do was let him have the fucking win. And where the hell had Card…

It was quiet, Reed realized for the first time. Even hushed would've been unnatural here, but this was dead silence. You could've heard a pin drop. 

Contrary as it might seem, Di was so emotionless that you could always tell on the rare occasions when she smiled, even behind her mask. As she languidly brought the mic to her face, Reed could  _ feel _ the shit-eating grin she had on her face. 

“Come on, ladies, give our first splice fighter a hand.” She said. 

The response could be described in one word: deafening. 

“JABBERWOCKY! JABBERWOCKY! JABBERWOCKY!”

For the second time today, people were chanting at him. They were calling him something he wasn't, something he hadn't agreed to. Di was making him their new spectacle. Reed didn't get it, or maybe he did, but all he knew as he stared her down was that he still had adrenaline pumping through his veins and the crowd's cheers ringing in his ears, and he liked it. He smiled back, bloodstained, like he was baring his teeth. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Excerpt from The Guide To Atlas: Industries]  
> ...  
> Splice fighter: make a living brawling ferals and doing tame matches at The Circus. 15k for wins, nothing if you lose, medical treatment by their lovely untrained “docs” either way. Remember, you’re a performer; Impress the crowd, and Rinkleader might just make you a regular


End file.
